


Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien

by foxfireflamequeen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:55:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1806052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxfireflamequeen/pseuds/foxfireflamequeen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my BBC Merlin tumblr minific dump. Each chapter should be a self-contained, complete fic. Stories will be tagged as necessary and warnings will be posted within chapter notes. Ratings may range from general to explicit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tag for[this gifset](http://foxfireflamequeen.tumblr.com/post/88930368558/okay-so-someones-apparently-moved-into-the-empty), modern AU.**  
>  Rating: G  
> Warnings: None

Okay, so someone’s apparently moved into the empty flat across from Merlin, right, the one very inconveniently placed so it doesn’t do anything to block the sun when it streams through his bedroom windows  _way_  too early in the morning and he has to keep the shutters closed if he doesn’t want his neighbors to catch him dancing around half naked to the most obnoxious song he can find on the radio. The previous occupants had been good about keeping their blinds down, but whoever’s in it now hasn’t gotten a chance to put some up yet, and Merlin can peek through the crack in his shutters and make out rows of boxes piled on the floor.

And then it’s the second day, and there’s a huge bed—no, really,  _huge_ , who needs a bed that big?—up against the wall, pillows and dark sheets piled on the bed. Some of the boxes are lying open, but still no blinds, and Merlin hasn’t seen any evidence of any actual living beings yet, not that he’s been looking much, just the glimpses he catches when he wanders near the window while changing into his shirt.

On the third day he realizes that there’s furniture up now too, a nightstand and chest of drawers and a floor-to-ceiling wardrobe. The boxes are already gone, and he should probably stop comparing the efficiency with which his new neighbor is going about unpacking with the full year it took for Merlin to clear out all  _his_  boxes when he moved in, and he didn’t even own a lot of stuff. In fact, he should probably stop looking into another person’s bedroom altogether, because the blinds are still not up and he doesn’t want to be an  _accidental_  Peeping Tom, who does that—oh hey is that a cat?

On the seventh day he discovers that his neighbor is an absolutely shameless man who does pushups butt-naked in his bedroom that  _still_  doesn’t have curtains of any sort, and Merlin doesn’t realize he’s squinting against the sun in his eyes to get a better look until he catches himself thinking about popping a bag of popcorn.

He should probably—go.

He cracks the shutters a little wider.

It’s the tenth day that something crashes into his shutters so loudly that Merlin flies to them in a panic, throwing them open and hoping it wasn’t a pigeon that crashed into it or something, and nearly gets his nose broken by…

He picks the rather large rock off the floor.

“I knew that would work!” A voice calls, and Merlin looks back out the window to watch the stupidly handsome man next door wave to him like his other hand isn’t full of more rocks of various shapes and sizes that he was clearly planning on throwing at Merlin’s window until it either broke or he came to open it. “I’m Arthur,” he says, accent incredibly posh for the area he was living in. “Nice to meet you.”

“Merlin. Did you just try to break my nose?” Merlin asks blankly, because  _Arthur_  is disgustingly pretty but there might be something wrong with his head.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to throw that last one.” Arthur definitely doesn’t sound sorry. He doesn’t even have the decency to drop the rest of the stones that Merlin’s eyeing warily. “Just wanted to let you know that the view’s probably better with your shutters open.”

The view, what?

Oh my god.

Merlin slams the shutters close. Then opens them again.

“That was one time!” he huffs, face burning as Arthur’s smile almost splits his not-so-gorgeous-anymore face in two. “You should buy drapes, have some decency!”

“It’s my bedroom,” Arthur looks entirely too amused, and Merlin’s eyes narrow.

“Having fun, are you?” he asks, and Arthur laughs until Merlin says, “I could have been a seventy year-old woman, you know,” and then he looks shifty.

“You found out who lived here before throwing rocks at my window,” Merlin realizes out loud, knows he’s got it right when he sees Arthur’s cheeks go red all the way from his room. “You stalked me!”

“I just asked around about who lives in your flat!” Arthur protests. “And then I saw you going in the other day, and—”

“And you thought you could mess around with me a little?” Merlin says stiffly, and waves off Arthur when he opens his mouth again. “Never mind. I’ll keep them closed from now on. Don’t worry.” And he does. He closes his shutters and latches them in place.

Except Arthur goes back to throwing rocks at his poor window the next day, and Merlin has to open his shutters to holler at him like the old woman he most decidedly isn’t, and they end up talking into the night until Mrs. Hendrickson from two flats down threatens to report a noise disturbance if they don’t shut the hell up.

They still do it the next night. And the next. And Arthur doesn’t buy curtains, no matter how often Merlin tells him to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hendrickson doesn't report them, but a year later when Arthur's helping Merlin pack up to move into his flat (which is bigger and the sun won't bother them in the mornings and Merlin sleeps there most nights anyway it just makes sense okay), she comes up to hand them a recording of when Arthur threw rocks at Merlin's window at 4 in the morning and Merlin yelled at him until Arthur found an opening to ask him to move in with him. It's not until she gives a recording of their first meeting to Merlin's best man at their wedding that they realize she taped all of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tag for[this still](http://foxfireflamequeen.tumblr.com/post/89337507863/they-dont-do-this-often-arthur-tends-to-come), modern AU.**  
>  Rating: M  
> Warnings: light D/S elements

They don’t do this often. Arthur tends to come home late, isn’t always in the right frame of mind where he trusts himself to take care of someone else this way. It can’t be rushed, either; they don’t always have time. Merlin doesn’t always need it, even when they do.

But sometimes he has a hard week or a trying month, days when everything goes wrong and he lashes out at the slightest provocation, assigns detentions left and right and snipes at Arthur over dinner. Sometimes it goes away on its own. His students serve their detentions and Arthur gives him space, and eventually he can breathe without the vicious pettiness coiling in his chest.

Other times, days go by with his mood unrelenting, so Arthur clears his schedule for an entire evening, turns off both their phones and draws the curtains shut, and brings out the rope.

Arthur’s good at it. He strips them efficiently, leaving only their underwear, winds the rope around Merlin’s arms and chest and pulls it taut. He’d insisted on practicing over and over until he could make the pattern with his eyes closed, tighten it just the way Merlin likes. They use this particular arrangement only for times like this, and Merlin knows what Arthur meant by conditioning as the tension drains out of him as soon as the final knot is in place.

Arthur steps back to eye him critically, then cups his face. “Alright?” he asks. Merlin strains for a kiss; Arthur presses one into his bare shoulder, draws him to the armchair he’s moved to the center of the room. Merlin goes without protest when he’s pushed to his knees at Arthur’s feet.

Arthur’s lips quirk; he still finds it amusing that Merlin can be counted on to do as told only when he’s tied up. He turns to pick up the book lying on the chair and sits, his hands leaving Merlin momentarily. Merlin reels at the loss of contact.

“Arthur,” he whines, heart lurching even as Arthur reaches for him again, strokes his hair and his face until he stops feeling like he’s falling away.

“Sorry.” Arthur’s eyes are so very soft, his thumb brushing over Merlin’s lips. Merlin doesn’t comment on Arthur’s inability to apologize in any other situation. He probably will, later. Now he sucks Arthur’s finger into his mouth, tries to follow when it pulls away.

There’s a quiet laugh above him, and Arthur splays his thighs. “Yeah, alright. Come here.”

Merlin shuffles forward on his knees, keeps going until he can lean against Arthur’s legs, skin to skin, press his face into the bulge at his crotch. He feels Arthur’s cock through the thin cotton of his boxers, hardening as he shifts against it. There’s a rustle of pages being turned, then the hand is back in his hair, holding him in place. Arthur’s pulse thrums steadily against his cheek. Merlin settles into the rhythm, breathes in Arthur’s scent and musk and lets the world fall away.

They stay that way. Arthur reads; Merlin drifts.

He doesn’t know long it’s been, never does, but the room is dark and Arthur’s cock is soft when he rouses him with soft kisses dipped into his hair and calls of, “Merlin, Merlin, up,” quiet and careful not to jar.

“Arthur,” he slurs as he blinks back into awareness. The silence is loud in his ears. Merlin squeezes his eyes shut as he’s guided to his feet. His knees hurt from holding him up for hours, and when Arthur turns on the lamp and unties him he can feel the blood rush through his arms. He knows his skin is red and dented where the ropes pressed in, and most nights Arthur maps them with his mouth, strokes his tongue and hands all over Merlin’s body until he’s sobbing with want.

Merlin watches him, drunk on calm, doesn’t ask if he will tonight. It’s Arthur’s decision. That’s the whole point, after all.

“I always thought I’d need a gag to shut you up for this long,” Arthur says, leads him to sit on the bed. Merlin only smiles dopily, gets an eyeroll in return. “Are you hungry?”

“No,” Merlin says, and his voice comes out hoarse. Arthur reaches for the glass of water on the nightstand.

“Slowly,” he orders, bringing it to his lips. Merlin rolls his eyes, but obeys and takes small sips even though the ropes are gone. Arthur hasn’t stopped touching him. He won’t for the rest of the night.

“Sleep, then,” Arthur declares when the glass is empty, and Merlin doesn’t understand how he’s willing to do so much for him without asking anything in return. “Bathroom?”

Tomorrow, Merlin decides, he’ll take Arthur apart with his fingers and tongue, make up for the nasty manner in which he’s treated him all week, show him how much he appreciates Arthur spending what little patience he has on him.

“Yes,” he says for now, lets Arthur help him to the loo and hold him up while he pisses. Arthur brings him back to bed and folds him into the sheets, climbs in with him and turns off the lamp. Merlin molds their bodies together and sighs, content.

“I’m looking forward to you being less of an arsehole tomorrow.” He feels Arthur grinning into his skin, swats at him halfheartedly.

“And I wish there was a way to turn you from a toad to a prince, but alas,” Merlin yawns through the pleasant haze of his mind. “That seems to be a permanent condition.”

Arthur knocks their foreheads together in retaliation and takes Merlin’s hands. “I hear it takes true love’s kiss.”

“Mm,” he groans as Arthur massages his wrists. He’ll keep it up until Merlin falls asleep; Merlin loves this man so much he could drown in it. “We’ll give Vivian a call in the morning.”

“More’s the pity,” Arthur sighs, forlorn. “I was also looking forward to what you had planned for me when we woke up, but I suppose Vivian will want to take her prince home with her.”

Merlin’s too at peace to kick him off the bed, but he pinches his nipple, hard. Arthur squawks indignantly, and Merlin surges up with the last of his strength to kiss his mouth.

Arthur’s lips curve up under his. “Goodnight, Merlin,” he breathes once he’s helped Merlin ease back down, sounds strangely at peace himself. Merlin presses his nose below Arthur’s jaw and feels his pulse strum, steady as ever.

“Goodnight, my prince.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Gwaine/Leon, canon compliant almost!fic.**  
>  Rating: T  
> Warnings: none

Leon and Gwaine’s first meeting does not go well.

Leon walks in on Gwaine just as he’s managed to rescue Merlin from a pair of arseholes, and distracts him enough that the first thing he actually sees of the man is Gwaine getting whacked round the face by a knight, and then said knight accuses Gwaine of attacking him, so of course Leon has to take him in. Gwaine kicks and screams all the way to court, says absolutely foul things about noble-born men and insults the king, and Leon is—not impressed.

And then the commoner is exiled so he doesn’t have to think about him anymore anyway.

Morgana takes over Camelot, Leon puts on a dress and follows Gwen to Arthur, and they hide out in caves with Merlin and Gaius and other people he doesn’t know (and Lancelot; he remembers Lancelot), and Leon only has vague remembrance of Gwaine (mostly his colorful insults) and Gwaine doesn’t remember Leon at all until he tries flirting with Leon the way he flirts with anything else that moves and Leon tells him he’s about as impressed as when Gwaine asked him if his grand titles keep him warm at night and told him to go fuck himself with the crown he’s willing to lick shit off of.

Gwaine might remember him then, and he might feel slightly chastised, but this  _Sir_  Leon isn’t like Lancelot or Elyan or Percival or Merlin who chose to fight for what’s right without rewards of land or glory, he’s not even much like Arthur who may be noble-bred but is perfectly willing to lay down his life for a mere servant and get down and dirty with the rest of them when circumstances call for it (in fact Gwaine kind of wants to go down on him and fuck him dirty—Arthur is rather devastatingly  _pretty_ ), this  _Sir_  Leon is clearly just another highborn man who thinks he’s above laughing and joking with the likes of commoners even if he is honorable and loyal to the Crown, and is absolutely not worth his time or apology.

So that’s that, then.

Except it’s not, because Gwaine gets knighted—and what a turn of events that is—and goes back to Camelot with the rest of them and learns to be a proper knight, so he has to serve under  _Sir_  Leon and train with the other knights, even though Arthur’s Knights—the title is rather unfitting despite its popularity, if you ask him, since Arthur has his sights set on no knight at all (a man can only try so many times)—tend to spend most of their time clustered apart from the rest. They go to the tavern after training and wager on whether the next girl will slap Gwaine or kiss him, and  _Sir_  Leon goes with them, but that’s alright because they’ve settled down into friendly territory now. Turns out it’s really hard to hate someone after you’ve fought for your life alongside them, even if they are born and bred nobility.

Leon learns to laugh at Gwaine eventually too, but it’s difficult for him, because Gwaine is noble and honorable but he couldn’t care less about acting like a knight. He tumbles whoever he likes regardless of station or consequence, continues making pointed barbs about nobility that sting Leon even if he says nothing, clearly thinks less of every noble-born knight than of the Knights of the Round Table—it’s the  _proper_  name for them; they’re Knights of  _Camelot_ , not just  _Arthur’s_ —and is willing to serve none but Arthur.  _He_  is certainly Arthur’s alone, in name and value; if Uther ever returned to take the throne and tried to order him about Leon is positive Gwaine would scoff in his face and ride out of Camelot unless Arthur commanded otherwise. He respects Leon not at all, listens to him even less, his eyes always finding Arthur’s for confirmation after Leon issues a command, and that’s a problem Leon doesn’t know how to solve, too small and personal to bring to his King but undermining his authority far too much to let go unchecked.

Leon does his best to uphold the values every knight claims to have, tries to lead by example, but for every citizen he impresses with his chivalry and courtesy, Gwaine  _un_ -impresses three more by tumbling their daughters and starting tavern brawls that cause massive destruction of property. When Leon takes the damage assessments to the King, Arthur only looks at him with pity and Merlin claps hands over his mouth that do nothing to hide his laughter. Gwaine apologizes as insincerely as possible and takes the punishment of working in the kitchens because it gives him a chance to steal all the pies.

At least he shares the pies.

Leon tries, though. He tries asking and he tries ordering, he sends Merlin after him because they’re friends and sends Lancelot after them both because they’re  _too_  good friends (and because Lancelot can make the most innocent little daisy feel guilty for her behavior; he should have sent Lancelot first—Gwaine would never have been able to corrupt him the way he has Merlin), then he tries telling Gwaine what  _Arthur_  would have done in his place, since Gwaine respects Arthur if no one else.

That last one seems to work, a little. Gwaine seems to feel sorry for him whenever he’s reduced to using Arthur as ammunition, so Leon regretfully waves farewell to his pride and uses him more.

When Lancelot passes Arthur’s Knights grow even closer, and Gwaine doesn’t know when he started lumping  _Sir_  Leon in with them, but it doesn’t really matter anymore.

Lancelot’s death leaves a mark on them all, but especially on Arthur and Merlin and Gwen, and Gwaine and Leon share their first moment of brotherhood after all these months when they nod at each other from across the room before Leon takes on the task of distracting Arthur from his guilt with training and hunts and Gwaine makes a fool of himself until Merlin has to laugh.

They think of Guinevere too, they do, but she is neither a knight—which Merlin is in all but name; Gwaine would wonder what keeps Arthur from elevating him in court, giving Merlin a seat at the Round Table if not a knighthood (because even Gwaine has come to realize that Merlin with a sword is as much a danger to himself as to his enemies), if he didn’t know that Merlin’s current position is the only one in which Arthur can keep him as near as he does—nor a close friend, and they can’t help her.

So they help Arthur and Merlin best as they can, and compare notes, and it doesn’t take very long for Gwaine to realize that he may have overestimated the size of the stick up  _Sir_  Leon’s arse. The man has a sense of humor, an appreciation for good mead, and he’s genuinely, revoltingly— _nice_. Gwaine is starting to realize that he possibly judges nobility as harshly as Uther judged commoners, and he doesn’t really like that about himself, so he decides to fix it. And Leon has to admit that Gwaine is entertaining despite all the trouble he makes, and maybe letting his— _hair down_ _?_  Is that the term Gwaine used?—on occasion isn’t such a bad thing, and— _and he needs to be more careful because Gwaine is apparently corrupting him too_.

So they become friends, is the point.

Leon might breathe a sigh of relief when Gwaine—doesn’t  _quit_  his ruffian ways, not really, but eases up on them. Gwaine decides that he’s grown. There are more important things in life than purposefully antagonizing people he resents liking.

And now that Gwaine actually listens to  _him_ , Leon doesn’t have to threaten him with the King’s name anymore, which is a good thing because the lecture he has to give Gwaine and Percival on the consequences of a casual relationship between two knights who have to have each other’s back (Gwaine laughs shamelessly at his phrasing; Leon hopes he isn’t as red as Percival) at all times regardless of their feelings for each other is embarrassing enough without dragging Arthur into it.

(God alone knows what Arthur thinks he’s doing with Guinevere or Merlin, or Guinevere  _and_ Merlin—no one really knows, least of all Arthur—but he certainly sets no bars for healthy relationships.)

But that ends in a few months, so Leon has to go through yet another embarrassing lecture about residual feelings even though they’ve assured him that it was never very serious and they’re perfectly alright with each other, and Gwaine doesn’t laugh this time and Percival doesn’t look like he wants to hang himself, so he figures he’s done a better job.

Gwaine, on the other hand, Gwaine is concerned, see, because Leon is regular and constant and once he finds something that works he sticks to it, except he hasn’t used Arthur as an example for Gwaine in months, so he goes to Leon because they  _are_  friends now and it may be Arthur’s job as his best mate but Arthur is—oblivious, sometimes, which is actually the problem here so maybe it’s a good thing that Gwaine is the one approaching Leon, because if Arthur were to speak to him about this Gwaine is fairly sure Leon would spontaneously combust from the impropriety.

So he goes to Leon, and loosens his tongue with a few mugs of mead, and brings it up carefully. He’s so careful that he’s honestly worried when Leon sprays mead from his nose when Gwaine asks him how long he’s been infatuated with the King.

"What," is all Leon manages to gasp, and Gwaine understands, it must be very hard; everyone knows how Arthur feels about Merlin—or Gwen—or both—they have a rather indecisive king—and Leon has never mentioned it for as long as they’ve known each other, so he’s been hiding it for at least a couple years now, and Arthur is his closest friend, so it’s actually probably a lot longer than that. So he’s as gentle as he is with Merlin when he tells Leon that it’s alright, and if Leon needs someone on his side Gwaine will withdraw the wager he placed on Merlin in the castle betting pool—he did mention the King was indecisive—and wager a hundred gold pieces on Leon, never mind that he doesn’t have a hundred gold pieces.

And Leon has calmed down somewhat now that he’s not choking to death on mead—it would be a shameful end for the First Knight of Camelot—but his mind seems to still be frozen in shock because what he says is, “No, don’t do that; I wagered on Merlin too. I think we’ll win.”

Gwaine blinks at him, thrown completely off-track, half because Leon is wagering against himself and half because he didn’t think that the great and honorable  _Sir_  Leon would ever _wager_  on the  _love lives_  of his  _friends_ , and asks, “Did no one wager on Gwen?” because that seems a little—mean.

And also not the point.

"I thought you were infatuated with Arthur!" he says, outraged. He’d had a  _plan_ , he was going to be the person Leon could  _talk_  to, he was going to help Leon move on if that was what he wanted and be on his side instead of on Merlin’s if that was what he needed, he’s had a speech planned for a  _week_ , and Leon  _must be_.

And then Leon says, “Not anymore!” because he grew up with Arthur, and they were best mates, and no one knew either of them better, and Arthur was as pretty a boy as he is a man, and Leon had been—curious, and yes, alright, infatuated—and Arthur had liked him too, so they’d been each other’s first for most things but that had been  _years_  ago, before they both realized they were better friends than lovers. They’d stopped, and remained best mates, and they still laugh about it in private sometimes, and most importantly,  _it had been years ago_. _  
_

He doesn’t tell Gwaine all that, but Gwaine must read some of it in his embarrassment, because all he gathers from that is, “You’ve fucked the King?”

Leon hushes him frantically, horrified—they’re in a  _tavern_ —and asks  _why_  Gwaine would think something like that, and Gwaine tells him frankly, “Well what else was I supposed to think? Every third word out of your mouth is  _Arthur_. If  _Arthur_  were here,  _Arthur_  would never do this,  _Arthur_  would not want that—I know he’s the King, but I know only two other people who talk about him that way, and they’re  _Merlin_  and  _Gwen_. I was worried when your mantra dried up right after Arthur started formally courting Gwen and publicly fussing over Merlin!” Ah, yes, Arthur’s become somewhat of a mother hen where Merlin is concerned, likely a product of Merlin’s near-death experience with the Dorocha. It’s strange and endearing. ”Can you really blame me?”

Leon has to concede that that does sound like a reasonable assumption, and is dismayed to find that all those pitying looks Gwaine gave him struck a far more severe blow to his pride than he’d originally thought. The next half hour is spent assuring Gwaine over and over that no, he is  _honestly_ _not_ _in love with Arthur_ , no _,_ there are no _residual feelings_ , and no, “I am not going to _tell you if he is as good a tumble as you thought_ , have you no sense of _decency_ , Gwaine.”

He desperately turns the topic to Percival, but turns out that Gwaine is as alright with that as Leon is with Arthur, and so they laugh at themselves and drink until Leon can justify them gossiping about the castle residents like chambermaids, and eventually they devolve into just. Talking.

"You’ve neve’ courted anyone? Ever?" Leon slurs, surprised. He  _likes_  that part. That part is—sexually frustrating—but  _nice_.

"Don’ believe in it," Gwaine hiccups, and Leon thinks that’s fair. What does he know of commoner ways anyway, maybe courting is a noble-born thing, although Gwaine mentioned that he’s  _been_  courted before. Tumbling into bed with someone you don’t know sounds—awkward—but it also sounds passionate and foreign and tempting, and maybe the awkwardness only comes in the morning and it’s not as bad as Leon thinks, because again, what does he know.

Gwaine, on the other hand, is feeling judged by Leon’s long stare, and he’s going to wager the hundred gold pieces he doesn’t have that  _Sir_  Leon never brought anyone to bed that he didn’t court extensively, and  _Sir_  Leon is rather handsome when he’s not pining away for the Princess, so he grins wide and says, “Wan’ t’ try it?”

It takes a few more attempts for Leon to figure out what exactly it is that Gwaine wants him to try, but when he finally understands, he stuns Gwaine completely when he says, “Alright.”

They go back to Gwaine’s chambers because Leon doesn’t have the slightest idea how to do this, but then Gwaine locks the door and throws him against it to seal their lips together, and it’s easy going from there.

In the morning—well.

The awkwardness is actually as bad as Leon expected it to be, and it’s very possible that this sort of thing is only to be done with strangers, and that he wasn’t supposed to stay all night, because he just  _knows_  he’s going to look at Gwaine’s chest heaving during training and think of the way it rumbled when Leon pushed into him and see him grin at Merlin or Elyan or Percival and remember how he smiled, soft and sated, as he fell asleep. It’s not _proper_  and Leon can’t afford these distractions, he’s the  _First Knight of Camelot_ , he’ll have to  _give orders_  to this man, he shouldn’t  _want to do that again_.

_Fuck._

Gwaine can’t bring himself to break the silence, uncomfortable in a way he’s never been in this situation before. He can’t imagine what he was  _thinking_ , Leon isn’t  _Percival_ , he’s a  _noble_ , born and bred, he’s never done this before and the discomfort is radiating from him in  _waves_  and Gwaine—

Oh mother of of that is sane, Gwaine wants to  _make it better for him_.

Leon stands and dresses silently; Gwaine turns his head to give him some illusion of privacy but watches out of the corner of his eyes anyway because Leon—Leon is truly very handsome, and he was—gentle, and endearingly unsure, and not at all  _proper_ , and he’s not in love with Arthur.

Gwaine is—in trouble. To put it mildly.

Leon laces up his boots and turns, gives Gwaine a nod and leaves in a hurry. He’s going to go change into something more appropriate, then find Arthur, and Arthur will take one look at him and he’ll know something’s wrong, and it may be the crack of dawn and Leon might have a headache the size of Albion, but he’ll give Leon the day off and lock them in his chambers with a tankard of his imported wine and let him embarrass himself as much as he wants. Arthur’s got kingly duties, he’s sure, and Leon has’t monopolized him like this since Leon’s mother’s passing, and Arthur is a godawful adviser—he’ll probably tell him to  _court_  Gwaine, and Leon already knows what Gwaine thinks of  _that_ —and Merlin would probably be better for this, but Leon’s having a crisis and he needs his best friend, not his King and certainly not his King’s—manservant—consort—would-be consort—something—and Arthur will gladly give him that if he looks half as panicked as he feels, and Leon would take Arthur over Merlin any day. At least Leon knows for sure he won’t end up tumbling _Arthur_  when he’s drunk; that ship has sailed so far past the horizon it’s probably fallen off the edge of the earth, thank god.

Maybe if he drunkenly rambles about it enough, he can stop wanting to wake up in Gwaine’s arms again by tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Gwaine rolls onto his back in his suddenly-too-empty chambers and stares up at the ceiling and wonders who he should talk to if he wants to court someone, seeing as he’s never done if before and  _Sir_  Leon has probably been courted by some of the best, and Gwaine definitely has to outdo the  _best._  He’d go to Arthur, but he has a strong suspicion that that’s the direction Leon is headed right now, and Arthur manages to do most of his seducing unawares anyway so he’s unlikely to be a big help.

 _Merlin_ , though;  _Merlin_  might know—or better yet,  _Guinevere_. She’s known Leon her whole life, as long as Arthur, she knows what he likes and how  _he_  courts, and unlike Merlin, who’d tell Arthur all about his bloody magic if Arthur would just ask—and if Leon mentions Gwaine he  _will_  ask Merlin—Gwen can keep a secret.

So Gwaine springs out of bed to get dressed. There’s lots to do, and very little time before Leon manages to thoroughly convince himself that it was all a mistake and put his foot down about it.

Gwaine would much rather give this courting thing a shot. If Leon likes it that much—and he  _does_ ; that much was obvious—it must be—nice.

And Gwaine—he never thought he would, but—he thinks he might like nice.


End file.
